


Held Enthralled

by Deathstar510



Series: Worlds Apart, Brought Together [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, F/M, M/M, Origin Story, Polyamory, Pre-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Slow Burn, Trans Floki, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29019138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathstar510/pseuds/Deathstar510
Summary: Ten years before Ragnar sails to Lindisfarne, he is on yet another raid to the east, but instead of coming home with treasure and valuables, he returns with a strange, wild boy that tells him that the gods have plans for them both. There are many places in the world to sail to - and they will do it together whether Ragnar likes it or not.
Relationships: Floki/Ragnar Lothbrok, Lagertha/Ragnar Lothbrok
Series: Worlds Apart, Brought Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096247
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	Held Enthralled

**Author's Note:**

> So this is actually the first story I started on in this fandom and I think I've finally gotten the first chapter readable for the general public. Main note for this story - and this series in general honestly - Floki is trans, it's going to come up multiple times, and it's probably one of my most solid headcanons so it's going to crop up from time to time. It's a fun thing to explore, so it's definitely one of my favorite aspects for this. Anyway, this fic is a headcanon for Floki and Ragnar's history that I got the idea for very early in the series, and wanted to play with because the backstory of this show has so much rich potential that we never really get into - more room for fanfic authors to play though.
> 
> Chapter Specific Content Warnings:
> 
> Canon typical violence/minor character death  
> Non-graphic sexual assault  
> Misgendering

Not every raid was a successful one. That was a lesson to be learned early, if a man was lucky, before he could start building his dreams higher than the fate the gods had in mind for him. Ragnar was no different and, by his twentieth year, he had long since learned not to expect that he would come back every summer laden with gold and silver and tales to tell. He knew well that not every raid would bring him glory and riches.

But Ragnar damn well would have liked this one to have brought _something_. Excitement at least. A good fight, perhaps, and an opportunity to impress the gods. It wasn’t a hard standard to meet, but there they were, many days out from Kattegat still, and not one of the fifteen men on their boat had so much as raised an axe all summer.

The Baltic lands had never been generous to them, not in any of the years Ragnar had raided since earning his arm ring. Earl Haraldson ordered them there every summer, and likely would for every summer to come, and it took a toll on the already poor region. Still, he’d returned from every previous trip with at least a modest haul of treasures. Something to trade for food for their winter stocks, or a trinket or two to bring home to Lagertha. She had not been able to raid with them since their marriage and Bjorn’s birth, and now with their newborn daughter she would be kept from adventure even longer.

The domestic life weighed on her, pricked like endless jabs of the sewing needle that she had traded her axe in for. But, when Ragnar brought his treasures home to her, it mattered less that she had not been with him, or that she would not see foreign lands for many years to come. Ragnar could press whatever fine thing he’d found into the palm of her hand, trinkets and gold traded for a slow smile, a kiss, a hand at the back of his neck to pull him to their bed and make up for the long weeks he’d spent away from her side.

It had indeed been many long weeks away from his wife, but at this rate there would be no fine trinkets to offer her when he finally returned.

Their journey had shown them no kindness from the start of it. The gods sent storms to rattle their ships the whole way, knocking them far off course so that when they did finally find the Baltics it was only inhospitable lands for miles, with no settlements worthy of note. They’d searched, of course, along miles of shoreline, and run across nothing more than a handful of poor fishing villages, small clusters of homes scraping out what little living they could. Nothing worth a raid, nothing worth their time.

They had split the boats then, gone in all directions in hopes of finding something worthwhile, some further north along the coast, others back across the sea towards Kattegat, and if Ragnar had thought that he was bored on the way here, now he was in true agony.

Perhaps had he known his crew better it would not be such a chore. As it was, though he recognized every face and name, there were few he knew well enough to call friend. Rollo, of course, but he was no fine company at the best of times, let alone after several frustrating weeks trapped in a longboat. Eric, though the raider was old enough to be Ragnar’s father and the fire in his blood had long since cooled into an easy simmer. He was perhaps best suited for a voyage such as this, patient and calm even now, but Ragnar was in no mood to be talked to about the virtues of patience.

The rest were near strangers, to him and his brother both, and it was a dangerous thing to have a ship full of strangers when Rollo’s temper had to be frayed to a single thread. If they did not find battle or simply opt to go home soon, Ragnar was sure it wouldn’t be long until Rollo was starting fights here on the boat with anyone who would argue with him just to have something to do.

Ragnar might have even suggested going home long before now, but the thought that Lagertha may have nothing to smile over when he returned pained him more than the boredom or the vague worry that Rollo would toss one of their companions overboard before too much longer. So he stayed steady, pressed on, and prayed silently to Odin to grant them the sliver of knowledge needed to find a worthy raid.

Today, it was his turn at the steering oar, and he sat curled forward with his elbows on his knees and watchful eyes scanning the shoreline. They were near Swede territory now, close to Uppsala if Ragnar had his guess, and it had been agreed by all the men the night before that if they saw nothing today they would consider this summer a lost cause and begin their journey home.

It had been agreed, but it seemed Rollo was now regretting his vote. “I’m not sure why we’re even bothering.” The complaint was near background noise at this point, Rollo had questioned the point of their final day of searching since they’d woken up that morning, but Ragnar tilted his head anyway to indicate that he was listening. Sort of. “With this many men, if we do manage to find anywhere worth raiding - which I doubt - we won’t have the manpower to fight them back.” Rollo sat up, mimicking Ragnar’s posture and leaning in a bit towards him, lowering his voice so his next words were for the two of them alone. “I don’t know about you, brother, but I am not planning to meet the gods over a hopeless battle with men I do not know I can count on.”

“Nor am I, but is it not better to at least try our chances?” Ragnar didn’t need to look to him again to know that his brother’s face was twisting into a deeper frown. Disagreement never settled right with Rollo, even in its mildest forms. Ragnar turned away slightly, hiding the amused smirk that spread across his face. “I haven’t gone home empty handed before, and I’m not planning to meet my wife as a failure.”

Rollo scoffed, as he often did when Ragnar reminded him that it was he who had a wife and children, where Rollo still had none. “Whatever Lagertha may think, the gods care little for your intentions. They have thrown us off course once already, perhaps we should consider listening to them.”

“So now you care for what the gods have to say?” He pulled his eyes from the coastline just long enough to level a doubtful look at Rollo. “I can point out a dozen ways you dismiss them every day. Strange that now you would be concerned with what they wish.”

If Rollo had a response to that, Ragnar would never hear it. A call from the bow of the boat sounded, and they both turned immediately towards it and the man that stood there, watching the coast ahead of them. Halle - an older, burly raider worth at least two of Rollo in weight, though he was only scarcely taller than him. Ragnar rarely spoke to him, though he’d heard tales of his viciousness both in battle and in the aftermath of it, some spoken in respectful awe and others in hushed, anxious whispers.

One of Halle’s massive hands clutched the wood of the dragon’s head while the other came up to shade his eyes. “Settlement ahead,” he said, quieter than his earlier shout but more certain. “A real village this time, not just more farmland.”

Ragnar could not leave his post, but he straightened up as much as he could, eyes sharp and focused now and his heart leaping with promise. Beside him, Rollo watched with the same intensity, waiting to hear more.

Finally, Halle quirked a smile that screamed of battle hunger. “Looks to me like there’s an earl’s hall out there too.”

And that was all it took. An earldom meant warriors and traders, and the possibility of wealth, treasure, and battle. It meant something to take home for their troubles. Every man on the boat looked ahead to that single small village, and Ragnar could see each of them planting their hopes on it, their last chance to make their time worthwhile.

Ragnar pulled sharply on the steering oar, and the boat turned toward land.

* * *

Their sail on the horizon did not go unnoticed. By the time that they’d drawn close enough to anchor, the villagers had mounted their defense, or what passed for a defense. In truth, it was a pathetic little group that had gathered at the shore, and Ragnar could almost feel guilt somewhere in him to look at it. Elders, women, a reedy child or two not old enough for their rings. Apparently this was the best that could come against them. Likely their own fighting men had gone out on their raids, and left their home pitifully unprotected in the process.

Ragnar almost would have suggested leaving them be. Not purely out of his own sympathy - though he could not deny that their determination in the face of certain defeat pricked some soft part of his heart - but practicality as well. No village that could muster up so little defense was likely to have anything worth taking. If they had anything of value, more men would have stayed behind to guard it. But once the anchor dropped it no longer mattered. The axe was in his hand, his boots in the water, Rollo standing firm beside him, and it was too late for any second thoughts. The crew moved forward as one, fifteen voices raised in one united battle cry.

Ragnar brought his shield up, let his mixed emotions fall away from him, into the waves soon to be reddened with blood, and tore headfirst into battle.

With such a frail defense standing against them, there was no purpose to a shield wall. The villagers outnumbered them, but up against fit warriors their numbers hardly mattered and Ragnar didn’t hesitate to split from the others and stand his ground alone. The first man brave enough to come for him was old, his face deeply scarred and wrinkled, but his arms were thick like trunks and he moved quickly. Ragnar barely brought his shield between them in time, and the old man’s axe hit hard enough to rattle his bones and knock him back a step. In his day, he would certainly have been a warrior to fear.

In this day, Ragnar shoved forward with his shield hard enough to knock him back, kicked out to bring him to the ground. A swift strike to the old man’s throat granted him his passage to Valhalla. Blood spattered out onto the sand just as a high pitched shriek of rage rose from his side. Ragnar turned just in time to let the source, a boy with a hammer in hand that could be no more than ten years old, bounce directly off of his shield. The boy hit the dirt with a shout, his nose bloody. Ragnar could have struck him down too with ease, but he held back, giving the boy a moment to gather himself.

He looked up at him with wide eyes full of tears, sniffed back the blood dripping from both nostrils. The nose was certainly broken, but he’d live if he were smart and it seemed that he was because he soon scrambled to his feet and ran, nearly tripping again in the process.

The little boy wasn’t the only one choosing retreat over death either, Ragnar soon saw. The people here were brave enough to try to defend their homes, but they were not so foolish as to throw away their lives on an already lost battle. Any that had any intention of survival had already started to run.

Ragnar let them, even when several of the crew raced to give chase. They wanted more blood to wet their axes, or perhaps slaves to bring home with them - but the pursuit of a people that could hardly defend themselves held little interest for Ragnar. He was much more concerned with the possibility of riches, or the closest thing he could find to them. The last few lingering shouts of the fighting faded behind him as he ducked into the shadow between two houses and made his way deeper into the village, eyes locked on that distant earl’s hall that held such promise.

The buildings stood closely packed here, houses practically piled on top of each other with only narrow, weaving paths left between them, and what little space there was seemed to be dedicated to storage of barrels and crates. Sunlight streamed down from between the roofs, but the overhangs and the clutter created so many deep shadows that it still seemed impossible to see where he was going. The walls crushed in on him from either side - perfect cover for an attacker to hide. His axe sat heavy in his hand and he tightened his grip on the hilt of it, determined not to let his guard down.

Something near him rattled.

Ragnar froze mid-stride, his head tilting automatically towards the sound. His breathing slowed to allow him to better hear, then paused altogether. His own heartbeat pulsed in his ears, blood singing for another fight, and just under the steady sound he could hear short and shallow breaths from the shadows. The shifting of feet in the dirt. Another frightened child, perhaps?

He searched through the darkness with sharp eyes, and caught the outline of a head and shoulders, low to the ground. Ragnar brought up his axe to a patch of light and tilted it slowly, let the sun gleam off of its bloodied edge. Ragnar smiled into the dark. “Come out slowly. If you cooperate, I might not end up having to kill you.” His tone was light, it’d seem almost a comfort were it not for who he was.

The figure moved in the darkness, and Ragnar caught a glint of eyes staring back at him. Finally, slowly, the crouched figure stood, coming from shadow into sunlight and showing their face for the first time.

It was no child, that was for certain. They stood much too tall, taller than Ragnar, closer to Eric’s massive height than anyone had a right to be. But where Eric was broad, built like the warrior he was, the figure in front of him was painfully thin, almost snakelike. Scruffy too, with tangled hair that hung down to bony shoulders and a solid layer of dirt caked over their skin as if they’d spent days in the woods before coming here. Blue eyes stared at him, standing out starkly pale against black, spidery lines of kohl that extended down their smudged cheeks.

Looking at them - beardless, painted eyes, but not a curve to be found on that narrow body - Ragnar had no idea if it was a man, woman, or perhaps some variety of particularly ratty forest spirit that stood before him. Regardless of who they were, he didn’t care for them to get any closer. He put his axe out in front of him, using it to keep them at a distance, or scare them off, he truly didn’t care which.

He received neither. The strange thing simply tilted their head, letting their gaze dance along the edge of the axe, then back up to Ragnar’s face. A grin broke out, a strange and hungry look. When they stepped forward, undeterred by the bloodied weapon pointed towards them, Ragnar could swear he saw a glint of gold in that steady stare.

“Hold, girl,” Ragnar said, taking a wild guess and apparently getting it wrong judging from the short, almost offended huff of breath that he received in response.

“I’m not a girl.” His voice was far too relaxed for an unarmed man staring down a raider. Another step forward and that bony chest brushed against Ragnar’s extended axe.

Ragnar had no choice but to take a step back. As much as he hated to look as if he were retreating, he wasn’t about to let this strange boy any closer to him than he already was. “Hold anyway. I’ve no interest in killing you.”

Only then did the boy still, eyes still on Ragnar and not on the axe that really should have been his first concern. Now that he was closer, Ragnar could see that the kohl on his face was only the freshest of many applications, layered over older, faded designs. It gave his eyes a bruised look that made him seem vulnerable despite his easy confidence and impressive height.

Killing him would be easy, painfully easy, and perhaps that was why Ragnar hadn’t just done so already. It would have saved him some trouble, but slaughtering the helpless had never held much appeal to him. Ragnar gestured with his shield. “Leave. Now’s your chance, I’ll not chase you. I’m here for gold, and you look like you have none. Go.”

The boy swayed slightly on his feet and, for a moment, Ragnar thought he would listen, but instead he just dissolved into reedy, unnerving giggles, one hand brought up to his mouth. So he was mad then, as well as helpless, for any sane man would have taken the chance to run by now.

He prodded the boy’s bony ribs with the end of his axe, then brought it back to beat against his shield in a sharp movement. “I said go.” Nothing. Not even a flinch or a startle. Ragnar let out a frustrated sound. Perhaps it would be easier to cut the boy down anyway purely for the annoyance he was causing. If he was even a little more like Rollo, he would have done it a long time ago.

But he wasn’t Rollo and he didn’t have it in him to cut down someone seemingly harmless, no matter how annoying. Instead, the axe went back into his belt and he reached out to jab a finger against the boy’s chest. “You are lucky I am the one you ran into. Otherwise you would be dead.” The threat seemed to have about as much impact as anything else Ragnar had said so far, which was none. Not a shred of gratitude or relief flashed across the boy’s face, as if he was unaware he’d even been in danger to begin with.

Those eyes stayed on Ragnar, searching his face for… something. Ragnar could not say what, and he had wasted too much time here already to bother asking. He stepped around the boy with a curse on his breath. It felt like he’d lost some sort of battle in an odd way, but he ignored the vague sense of shame and tried to focus his thoughts back on what they came here for.

Earl’s hall. Battle. Glory. Treasure.

Better.

He glanced back over his shoulder only once to ensure that he was not to be followed or attacked. Where the mad boy had stood, now there was no one, as if he’d melted into the shadows as soon as Ragnar took his eyes off of him.

Mere minutes on its shores and Ragnar already longed to see the back of this place.

* * *

Ragnar had started this raid at the front of it, in line to be the first to crack open the prize of the unexplored hall. Now, thanks to the troublesome creature he’d left behind him, he found himself trailing, boots sinking into the muddy tracks of the crew. By the time he arrived at the doors, it was to Rollo leaned casually against their frame.

Before him, a corpse lay in the mud, throat slashed wide and eyes staring up lifelessly at the sky. A guard, from the looks of it, and perhaps the only able warrior Ragnar had seen since they anchored. One good fight in this entire village and Ragnar hadn’t even been here for it.

The disappointment must have shown on his face, because Rollo looked nothing short of delighted to see him. He knew his brother - Rollo only looked that happy if Ragnar looked _truly_ miserable. “Took you long enough.” Rollo grinned wide, a mocking laugh underlying his rough voice. “I thought I may need to go back to the beach, make sure you hadn’t been struck down by an old woman.”

Ragnar let out a huff of air, shaking his head as he shoved his way past. Rollo only laughed more obviously this time and followed him in with a sharp clap on the shoulder, unbothered by the posturing. The opportunity to fight had done him well it seemed, for the tension that had laced through him the entire trip was finally gone.

It certainly wasn’t the prospect of treasure that was relaxing him. As Ragnar stepped into the hall, he cursed under his breath - it was as unimpressive on the inside as the rest of the village had been. An earl’s hall it was, true, but it was a tiny one and rundown. A shabby hall for a shabby earldom.

Still, it wasn’t completely empty it seemed. A tall, central chair stood at the far end of the hall, and in its seat sat a small collection of gold - jewelry, coins, some small, pried off scraps that might have originally been gilding on the chair given the noticeable rough patches on the arms and back of it. A poor earldom then, but not completely destitute. Though, Ragnar supposed it would be by the time they were done with it.

There were voices coming from behind the throne, the laughter and chatter of some of the others. Ragnar scanned the back wall until he caught sight of the hanging fur that must have marked the entrance to the earl’s quarters. His eyes flicked back to Rollo. “How much has been searched already?”

“Not much.” Rollo gestured to the private quarters. “I checked back there first thing, which is where we found most of this.” He kicked the leg of the throne, making its contents give a satisfying jingle. “Halle and a few others are in there now, trying to find more.”

“And everyone else?”

“No idea.” His tone said that he didn’t much care either. “Searching the other houses, maybe. They may be poor bastards here but I’m sure that there’s something worth taking in this place.”

A whole town to search and it seemed they would bring back barely enough to split between them once Haraldson had taken his share. As if he deserved it - he was, after all, the reason they had gone east yet again in the first place. “Barely worth the stop then, wasn’t it?”

Rollo scoffed. “You were the one that said you wouldn’t go back empty-handed, brother.” He grabbed one of the coins from the pile and flicked it in Ragnar’s direction, chuckling when he managed to catch it from the air. “You should just be happy that we didn’t have to make a liar out of you.”

The coin sat heavy in his palm. Ragnar tossed it up, caught it again, let it twirl briefly between his fingers. “True. Small treasures are better than none. Still.” He threw the coin back to its brothers on the chair. “I’ll be glad to be done with it all the same.”

Rollo watched him, a curious look in his eye. He must have sensed the shift in Ragnar’s mood, but looked as if he had no inclination to ask any questions. Thank every god for uninvested elder brothers - Ragnar had no time for questions he didn’t have good answers for like why he had let a strange, mad thing take up so much of his time.

Besides. There were other furs around the hall, and rooms beyond them. The earl’s bedrooms were not the only thing worth searching.

Ragnar pulled his axe from his belt again, in case any other surprises waited for him in this place. Only a fool would stay behind in a building filled with raiders, but judging from the few people he’d encountered in this place, where it was poor in gold it was certainly rich in fools.

The first room he checked was barely more than a nook, stuffed to the brim with spare firewood and little else, though Ragnar overturned several logs just in case anything had been hidden beneath them. It was the second that froze him, and not because of any treasure.

He heard rustling. Again.

Ragnar’s teeth came together, gritting almost painfully, and he felt a muscle in his forehead twitch. Surely it wasn’t him. No one would be stupid enough. But, sure enough, when he peered into the shadows a pair of damnably familiar kohl rimmed eyes stared back at him.

“Do you have no sense or just a death wish?” Ragnar hissed. The boy started to stand, and without stopping to think about it, Ragnar lunged forward to stop him. He spread his fingers over that scruffy head before he could stand too tall to reach and shoved down hard, practically throwing the boy back into the shadows. “Stay there. I’ve been trying to spare your life, the least you could do is hide so you don’t completely waste my time. What are you doing here?”

“I followed you,” the boy said, and his voice was nearly chipper, as if he were greeting an old friend rather than facing down a potential killer.

Ragnar prodded him with his axe and got as much of a nonreaction as he had the first time. This boy truly seemed ignorant to the danger he was in, or perhaps simply didn’t care. “I told you to run while you had the chance. You don’t listen well, do you?” A sharp grin and the boy shook his head. Now that his eyes were adjusting, Ragnar could make out every detail of that far too amused face. “This isn’t a joke, you know. I could kill you.” He adjusted his grip on the axe, made sure that the boy’s eye was drawn to it. One swing could end this now.

The boy giggled again, and Ragnar couldn’t tell if it was genuine humor that drove it or nerves. His eyes flicked from the axe to the door and back again. “If you want to kill me, you’d best do it fast.” The most irritating thing about the tone was the lightness of it. As if he were still one step ahead, despite being the only one on his knees. “Your friends will be coming to look for you soon.”

Sure enough, before he even finished speaking, Rollo’s voice called out, filling the small room like rising water about to drown the both of them. “Find anything, Ragnar?”

He almost called out the lie that there was nothing in here. Then he almost called out the truth. In the end, he said nothing at all, simply standing and staring down at those pale blue eyes. The boy met his gaze, watching him and chewing at his lower lip until it swelled slightly under his teeth. Then, slowly and intentionally, he put his wrists together as if they were bound and held them up towards Ragnar, every inch of him the picture of submission. “If you want to kill me,” he repeated, “you must do it fast. Kill me or take me with you, those are the only options you have left.”

Few things could render Ragnar speechless. In fact, he couldn’t say anything had ever managed it before - but now here he was, mouth open with nothing intelligent coming out of it. It took a moment before he could manage a low, “…What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me. I go only where the gods lead me, and they have brought me here, to you.” He shook his hands once, wrists still pressed tightly together. His entire body seemed to tremble with energy even while kneeling, like he was a line drawn too tight in a ship’s rigging, ready to snap at any moment. “I’ve obeyed the gods, shown that I will serve them. Will you?”

If a god set this all in motion, it was almost certainly the Sly One, bored of pestering Odin with his tricks and lies so he’d come to Midgard to see what kind of a fool he could make of the Allfather’s descendant.

He still held his axe. He could end this all here and never have to worry or think about this boy again. Take the loot they had more than earned with their efforts and leave him a corpse, never to bother any of them again. His fingers tightened around the handle. The boy before him didn’t flinch.

“Does anything frighten you?” he found himself asking.

“Many things. But not the gods. Not their path for me.” He looked as if he believed it, there was not an ounce of doubt when Ragnar met his eyes. “They’ve not fated me to die this day.”

Killing him would be the easy thing to do but, as many people had told him, Ragnar rarely did things the easy way. At the boy’s words, he finally sighed and relented, sliding the axe back into his belt once more. His other hand reached out to take hold of him. Tall as this boy may be he was so very, very thin; Ragnar’s fingers easily encircled both presented wrists and he pulled him to his feet easily.

Ragnar looked briefly into those smudged, wild eyes, then swept his eyes up to the ceiling. Perhaps now that he’d given in the gods would grace him with some sort of reprieve.

None came. It was just him and this odd, mad boy now - this slave, for that was surely what his fate would be once they left this room. Ragnar didn’t like the thought of what slavery could do to such a thin, fragile looking thing, but there was nothing left to be done for it now.

If this _was_ the work of the sly one, Ragnar was certain that he was laughing at them now.

* * *

Gold and silver were the easiest things to take in a raid - they had a fixed price, trade it in and you may earn a little more, a little less, but it would sell for what it was worth. Slaves though, slaves were a different beast. The same slave could sell for scraps or riches depending on the day and the buyers. An unknown value, a mystery, worth nothing and everything until the gold was in hand.

Nothing intrigued a raider like possibilities, and for that reason alone Ragnar really should have expected the way that the others silenced their talks and turned to him as soon as he walked the boy out into the main hall. Halle’s eyes were the harshest, feeling like a physical weight as they landed first on Ragnar, and then on his captive, who hardly seemed to register the inspection.

A fine cloth from the earl’s bed had been added to the pile of loot, for lack of anything more valuable to take, but with a new prize before them it lost much of its shine. Someone quickly ripped a strip from it and pressed the end of it into Ragnar’s hand. It made a simple enough rope, and the boy let him bind his wrists together without a fight.

Ragnar let the docility make him complacent; he didn’t see Halle step closer to them until the man’s thick hand closed around the end of the lead and pulled it from Ragnar’s grasp. The boy made a sharp sound, jerked back as if just noticing the others in the room for the first time, but it was little use and he was soon pulled out of Ragnar’s reach.

Halle brought the boy in close, fingers of his free hand closing around the narrow jaw. The boy was taller than even him, but the old raider seemed unconcerned with it; he was, after all, still the stronger of the two, there was no doubt about that. He turned the boy’s head one way, then the other, the practiced moves of a man skilled at inspecting uncooperative slaves. Then his fingers dug into the jaw joint and squeezed, painfully tight, until it pushed the boy’s mouth open. The action drew a warning growl that was swiftly ignored as Halle inspected the boy’s teeth.

“This one’s in good shape,” he muttered finally. “Odd looking though. No beard, no breasts…” He jerked down hard on the boy’s jaw, forcing him to tilt his head down for a better look at him. “Made up like a girl though. This a man or a woman?” Halle directed the question to Ragnar, uninterested in releasing the new slave’s jaw to let him answer for himself.

Sharp blue eyes found his and held the gaze, and Ragnar wondered if the boy was starting to regret his decision yet. Little to be done for it now, unfortunately. He shrugged at Halle’s question. “I asked him the same thing. He says man.”

That sent a chuckle through several of the men, and a deep sense of dread through Ragnar. Halle raised a brow, the expression on his face a dark curiosity that Ragnar knew too well from past raids and hated the look of. “You didn’t check?”

The way the boy jerked at the hold on his face and wrists sent guilt through Ragnar’s chest like a sharpened spear. He’d told him to run, _demanded_ he run for a reason. Put enough frustrated raiders on a boat for long enough and then unleash them on a helpless victim and Ragnar knew what could happen. Ragnar had never taken to the habits of other raiders, and stopped it where he could - he’d take many things, food, gold, slaves, but he’d not take anyone’s right to their own body, not even a slave or an enemy.

But Halle had many friends among the crew, and while he could count on Rollo to have his back whether he agreed with the fight’s cause or not, that brought the side of honor up to two. Eric would side with him, were he here, and that would perhaps be enough to settle the situation given that there were few in the crew willing to go against him. But he was out in the village somewhere, nowhere in sight, and without his help there was nothing to be done that wouldn’t end in bloodshed.

Ragnar gritted his teeth and looked away without answering, which was almost certainly answer enough. Halle chuckled low in his throat, and a sharp yelp from the boy soon followed. The yelp slowly became a warning growl, high pitched and thin, and that just made the laughter spread through the men around him. “You really should have checked Ragnar,” Halle said finally. Ragnar still didn’t look at him, or what his hands were doing. “She was lying to you. Good though. Women sell for a lot more. And I think we could all use-”

Halle’s words ripped off with a shout and a snarl so vicious that it could have come straight from a wolf. But when Ragnar looked, it was no wolf that had sunken teeth deep into Halle’s wandering hand. It was the slave, fierce and growling, deeper now and angrier, done with warnings and done with being touched.

Blood dripped to the floor, and the lead fell after it. The slave released Halle’s hand, pulled back, but only enough to make room for the vicious headbutt that followed, cracking their skulls together hard enough that Ragnar could hear it from across the room. It wasn’t enough to drop Halle to the ground, but it sent him reeling back with a snarl of his own.

The room exploded into movement. Several hands grabbed for the flailing slave, one aiming for an arm, another for the cloth trailing along the ground, but their quarry darted from reach, quick as a fox and still making angry sounds that sounded more animal than human.

A part of Ragnar wanted to simply let it play out as it would. Let the slave run, as Ragnar had hoped for in the first place. As nice a thought as it was, the rest of him knew with a painful certainty that it would not be so simple to end this. Not with Halle bellowing in rage, blood still running down his hand. He wouldn’t simply drop the matter to let the slave go free after that humiliation and, whatever happened, it would be worse if they had to spend time hunting down a runaway.

There was no ending here where the slave escaped, but there might be one that didn’t end in death, as far away a hope as that seemed right now. Ragnar lunged to grab the tail end of the makeshift lead before it could whip out of his reach, and he soon had the cloth wrapped tightly around his fist, prepared for a struggle. To his shock, though, like the sea quelling under Njörd’s hand, the fighting ceased all at once. The slave settled before him, but still seemed near to bursting with that violent energy from before. Still a sail rope pulled to the breaking point and liable to take out anything that got in its way.

The eyes that locked onto Ragnar’s were still fierce. Wild. _Angry._ “I’m not a girl,” the boy growled out.

Even if Ragnar had the inclination to argue, he wasn’t about to. He recognized someone that would rip a throat out without hesitation after all. So he only nodded slowly, clearing his throat. “…Understood.”

The boy didn’t move for a second, watching him - perhaps ensuring that Ragnar was not telling him what he wanted to hear only to follow Halle’s example once he had him settled. But, slowly, those tense shoulders relaxed, those blue eyes lost their bloodlust, and he let Ragnar pull him in closer by the lead.

Ragnar looked at him, at Rollo - who’d stood to the side and watched the whole time as if this were all some great show put on for his benefit - and finally at Halle, who still clutched his hand with a fury in his eyes.

“So…” Ragnar’s voice seemed too loud in the sudden quiet of the hall. “Shall we return to the boat?”

At his side, the boy giggled, and the edges of madness that had laced it before now came to the forefront, turning it into a sharp cackle. The sound of someone that had nothing to say, but couldn’t stand the sound of silence. Halle watched him with a murderous look. “We should kill that vicious little thing,” he said. “Then we can go back to the boat.” He gestured with his bloodied hand, more flecks of blood falling to the floor. “Damn bitch nearly ruined it.”

It looked worse than it likely was, most bites did. Ragnar had his fair share of them, though they had typically come from farm animals or dogs rather than angry slaves. If it was cleaned before they set sail it would be fine, infection would set in only if they left it unattended. Not a permanent injury.

He could still fix this.

“I don’t think you want to kill him.” The words came easily, smooth and calm despite the sparks jumping around inside of his skull. Ragnar slowly began wrapping the cloth lead around his closed fist a few more times, drawing the boy in even closer. A strike at him would be a strike at Ragnar, and no one was angry enough just yet to risk attacking an ally. “You know as well as I do that we barely have enough to justify our time here. After the earl takes his share, what would you have us do?” He gestured with his free hand to the pathetic pile of goods. “Split this? Fifteen ways?”

Ragnar glanced around the room from face to face, giving them time to digest his words, then gave a tug at the lead again, putting attention back on the boy at his side. “A single slave won’t make any of us rich, that’s true, but it’s more money in each of our pockets when we return.” He smiled an intentionally disarming smile. “So… like I said. Shall we return to the boat?”

Halle’s eyes could still flay the scales off a fish, but instead of being only aimed at the slave he was now staring those daggers into Ragnar’s skull. The rest of the room may have calmed, but he certainly hadn’t. Still, he wasn’t protesting, so Ragnar took the chance to pull the boy out of his immediate view and out the door.

The boy nearly instantly stopped short, pulling Ragnar to a sudden stop. This was not to be the end of his problems it seemed. Ragnar sighed. “What are you-” he paused midway through turning around. The boy had sunk down to one knee, and he knelt now over the corpse that Ragnar had passed when he entered the hall. The single slain guard.

Ragnar stood silent for a moment, watching him, before venturing, “You knew him?”

The boy gave a simple shrug. “Well enough.” He reached out with bound hands, closing the wide, dead eyes. He kept his hands there a moment longer, spread out over the man’s face as he whispered his soft words to the gods. A dark look flickered over his face, but he soon shook his head, as if shaking off the brief emotion he’d let show. “But what’s dead is dead. And since I’m not, I’ve no business with the dead anymore.”

“Yes, and you’re lucky you’re not. We can’t afford to push things.”

“You should have more faith in the gods,” was the only reply. “As I said, they have not fated me to die this day. Or you.”

“And how would you know what the gods have in store?” He tugged again at the lead. A thin boy such as this should not be so hard to move, no matter how willful, but it was like trying to haul a rock. “Quiet and come. I’ve done what I can for you, but you do not want to be caught in Halle’s way before he’s had time to calm himself down.”

The spindly form finally uncoiled and stood, all of it still as odd and confusing as the boy it belonged to. Further tugging on his wrists was futile - he only stepped forward when he finally chose to move. But he followed closely then, almost suspiciously calm.

Ragnar kept one eye on him as they walked. The boy may have offered himself up like a sacrifice to the gods, put himself repeatedly under Ragnar’s axe until it was accepted, but an unpredictable thing such as him couldn’t be fully trusted, no matter how compliant he was under Ragnar’s hand.

Compliant he may be, but when they reached the boat he wasted no time grabbing a proper rope.

“Sit by the mast.” The boy cocked his head at him, and didn’t listen until Ragnar pulled him over to where he wanted him and put solid hands on both shoulders, shoving down on them carefully but firmly. “Sit,” he repeated, and locked eyes until the boy finally obeyed him.

Ragnar again took both thin wrists in one hand while the other made quick work removing the cloth binding. The rope soon replaced it, looped around tight but not tight enough to hurt as he tied it. He brought the boy’s hands up above his head, pinning them to the mast.

The boy’s breath quickened under him. For a moment, Ragnar thought it might be his first hint of true fear. He angled his body away, still keeping him pressed back to the mast but not letting his weight pin him in place as Halle’s had so recently threatened to. It wasn’t the smartest thing he could do, the boy could easily have taken the opportunity to try again to struggle free, but he made no attempts to escape. Ragnar wound the rope around the mast and the boy’s wrists, around and around until he was certain that there was no possibility of wiggling free.

It was light restriction, as slaves went. Ragnar had seen captives brought back tied painfully tight, rope at chest and waist and ankles, neck sometimes if they were difficult. Halle would have him bound at the neck for certain. Could still demand it, if he was feeling cruel when he returned and the boy feeling particularly wild.

Ragnar brought a hand back to the top of the boy’s head. His hair was thin, soft under Ragnar’s palm. There were patches of it that looked to have been plucked out. An odd little thing this slave was. “Behave,” he said finally. “Act up at sea and there might not be anything I can do to keep you from being thrown overboard.”

The boy giggled again, and the sound of it was starting to feel like it would imprint itself on Ragnar’s ears and mind, never to be free of it again. He tugged lightly at the hair under his hand, tilted the boy’s face up so their eyes met. “I hope you understand what you’ve done, mad thing.”

When he stood, the boy’s eyes followed him up, bright and aware. As if it were him in control, despite the situation. Ragnar took his place at the steering oar again, and as he did he swore he saw another flash of gold through those eyes, just above that sharp wolf’s smile.


End file.
